


Memories of You

by EmptyOliveJar



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, F/M, Fernand/Clive is the main focus with some side Python/Forsyth and Clive/Mathilda, M/M, also Clive may be multi shipped in this but there's no cheating, mostly canon compliant minus the damsels in distress and ill developed romance, narration follows Fernand's and also Clive and Mathilda's POVs, sfw, some blood, this turned out kind of angsty but there's some sweet stuff in here I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-11 01:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12924339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmptyOliveJar/pseuds/EmptyOliveJar
Summary: The path that Fernand, Clive, and Mathilda were to take seemed clear up until the murder of King Lima. As eyes open and the three take a stance against the destruction of Valentia, doubt takes hold and the bonds between them are tested.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [necromancy_enthusiast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/necromancy_enthusiast/gifts).



> I hope that you enjoy the fic, necromancy-enthusiast! Thank you for the awesome prompt ideas to work with. Happy holidays!

Fernand had grown uncomfortable lying on the uneven ground hours ago. The blanket they’d spread on top of the grass offered little cushion and Clive’s bicep was far from a suitable pillow. He kept his complaints to himself, just taking Clive’s hand and watching the stars whirl across the sky. When Clive had told him where he was taking him in celebration, it had been difficult for Fernand not to eviscerate the idea on the spot. Mathilda and the others were off dancing and drinking and yet Clive wanted to ride out to the middle of nowhere and lay in the dirt.  
  
Even though Fernand had been prepared to abhor this entire venture, he had to admit he was somewhat enjoying himself. The summer night was pleasantly cool and Clive’s body was warm beside him. Meteors were leaving their burning trails every few seconds. Eventually, the rising sun would spoil the view, but then they could watch the day break and the meadow’s wildflowers open. Between the undisturbed beauty around them and the young love in his heart, Clive’s gift was sublime.  
  
“Thank you for this. When you first mentioned coming here, I thought you’d gone mad. Perhaps you know me better than I know myself.”  
  
“I know you aren’t one for simple pleasures, Fernand, but this is far from it.”  
  
“I would have to agree.”  
  
Their training as knights of Zofia had completed the evening before. Today had been the first day they hadn’t had to don their armor at a frightfully early hour and go ready their horses for drills. Fernand had never understood what situation they would be placed in where there wouldn’t be someone else around to take care of basic things like caring for war animals and tending to armor, leaving them to do the important work, but it was nonetheless part of their training.  
  
After years of studying etiquette, strategy, combat, and other skills necessary to knighthood, they had concluded their lessons with practical tests. Fernand had been overjoyed when he’d been paired to fight lance to lance against Mathilda, the top knight in their class and one of the few who could match his skill. There was no need to hold back and often even his all wasn’t enough to best her. It certainly wasn’t with the judges watching, although Fernand performed a tricky maneuver that stripped away Mathilda’s shield, leaving the judges tittering before Mathilda put both hands on her lance and knocked him off his horse. When the match had been called, they’d handed their horses over, dusted themselves off, and congratulated one another, embracing as friends.  
  
Fernand was well acquainted with how courts functioned and how to get what he wanted within them. His score for etiquette was perfect, although Clive and Mathilda both outscored him in strategy. The two of them were born leaders and Fernand was proud of them. They were shining examples of what a knight should be.  
  
All that was left to do now was wait for the results. Only a handful of knights were selected each year to join the Order of Zofia. Those who did not make the cut often went on to direct security for high ranking nobles, but it was a failure just as any other compared to those who went on to serve directly under the king. Fernand had been confident he’d make it, always in the top ten of his class, but doubt had wormed its way into his mind. He was skilled and his family name had always rightfully opened doors. Yet if it all somehow wasn’t enough, he’d be left working for some courtesan or heading back home to run the manor, separated from Clive and Mathilda in either case.  
  
Sensing the shift in Fernand’s mood, Clive tore his gaze from the stars, turning so that he was nose to nose with him. His voice was soft.  
  
“Focus on the now, Fernand. Fretting over what each new day will bring won’t aid you in anything. You did your absolute best in front of the judges. There isn’t anything for you to go back and alter.”  
  
“There isn’t anything you would change with your tests?”  
  
“Not a thing.”  
  
“You don’t even wish you’d hit Slayde harder during your match?” Fernand teased.  
  
Clive smirked. “Perhaps one thing.”  
  
Fernand’s amusement quickly faded. Sighing, he looked back up at the sky. The black of the night was beginning to fade into the deepest blue, the horizon appearing as if it were in flames. He’d lost count of how many meteors they’d seen and some of the morning blooming flowers were beginning to perfume the air. Ignoring it all, Fernand focused on Clive, taking in every single detail that he could so that he might hold this moment in his heart for the rest of his life. The faint light was catching the gold in his hair, his blue eyes glowing in an almost witch-like manner. As was Fernand’s habit, he kissed the beauty mark on Clive’s chin and then kissed him on the lips.  
  
They’d been courting for a few years now. While they were both at an acceptable age to marry, those that became knights tended to wait an extra few years. Both Fernand and Clive’s family certainly approved the match, eagerly awaiting news of an engagement. Despite the pressure on both sides, he and Clive had never actually discussed the idea, neither of them having to say that their focus was on other things at the moment.  
  
“If we get caught doing that my parents will send Clair with us to chaperone.” Clive murmured.  
  
Fernand huffed and pulled away. “How thoroughly you spoil the mood.”  
  
Clair and Fernand liked one another well enough. When she’d become old enough to quit pestering him and Clive to play with her, moving on to begin the basics of her own training to become a knight and a lady, Fernand taught her how to hold a lance while keeping her balance on horseback. She and Clive’s parents had recently bought her a fine pegasus and he’d heard that she was a prodigy in riding it. Whenever Fernand visited their manor she received him warmly enough, but it was clear that nothing that Fernand could ever do would be enough for him to deserve her brother.  
  
Sitting up, Fernand stretched, feeling exposed without his armor. Clive put an arm around him as they watched the sun rise. No matter what happened, Fernand would always have this moment.


	2. Chapter 2

Fernand was chosen to join the Order of Zofia, for what little it now meant. He and Clive were twenty one years old when they took their oaths to devote their lives for King Lima and Zofia. For six years they served together and they were some of the happiest of Fernand’s life as he, Clive, and Mathilda upheld the knight’s code with poise and dignity. Zofia being a kingdom of peace and prosperity, the majority of their time was spent in the castle overseeing Lima’s security and little else. It wasn’t an exciting life and it didn’t need to be. For Fernand, things were how they were supposed to be.  
  
Lima’s murder destroyed Fernand’s world. While Lima had never been a competent ruler, it hadn’t been required of him, the kingdom able to manage herself under Mila’s blessings. Desaix destroyed it all with a swipe of his hand. A drought set in, leaving desperate people committing atrocities in the name of survival. Instead of sending in the knights to keep the peace, Desaix gave leadership to the most rotten of the Order and allowed them to plunder just as the brigands did.  
  
The Order had been everything to Fernand, what he’d strived for since he was a child. Now, it left him disgusted to be recognized as a knight of Zofia. He despised the chaos Desaix had created and he despised himself even more for being so helpless within it. Clive and Mathilda felt the same. Their titles meant something to them, to the people, and yet by doing nothing they were just as horrid as knights like Slayde, a man willing to commit whatever crime was requested of him in exchange for more of Desaix’s wealth and power.  
  
The few knights that refused to take Desaix’s bribes were sent to the far corners of the kingdom so that they wouldn’t meddle with his plans. Fernand, Clive, and Mathilda were being housed by a noble family in possession of a scant amount of land by the border. Fernand couldn’t stand it, the parents and elder brother fawning over the three of them, desperate to win any scrap of favor from Desaix. The younger son possessed some dignity, speaking to them with a level head. It didn’t matter, Fernand didn’t have time for such minor figures even if Clive and Mathilda quickly befriended him.  
  
One night, well past the strike of twelve, Clive entered Fernand’s room, gently shaking him awake. Used to night drills, Fernand woke easily. He sat up and blinked at Clive.  
  
“What is it?” He asked, suppressing a yawn.  
  
“Mathilda woke me up. She wants to speak with the two of us. Come on.”  
  
Perplexed, Fernand rose, slipping on some socks so that he could tread as softly as possible through the manor. Mathilda’s bedroom door was cracked open and once Fernand and Clive entered the hallway, she joined them, shielding a candle behind one hand. They let her lead them down dark hallways and into the wine cellar. It was clever. If anyone were to catch them in here, the immediate assumption wouldn’t be that they were conspiring against Desaix but rather raiding liquor stores.  
  
“What is it, Mathilda?” Fernand demanded in a hushed voice.  
  
“I can’t speak for the two of you, but I’m finished with allowing Desaix to run amuck with the powers of Zofia. It’s high time that something be done.”  
  
Mathilda had always been Clive’s hero and had largely shaped him into the knight that he was, but even he balked at her words.  
  
“I couldn’t agree more that this situation is unacceptable, but there isn’t anything that three knights can do without earning a death sentence. There aren’t enough of us who are willing to oppose Desaix to do anything. If anyone were to hear us speaking like this and report it, this desire for revolution would die with us.”  
  
“As correct as you are, Clive, you’re failing to see what’s in front of you. The young man you’ve been speaking with, Lukas, wants to see Desaix ousted just as much as we do. How many others like him must be out there?”  
  
“Are you suggesting that we form a resistance group with such people?” Fernand questioned, the cogs of his mind furiously turning.  
  
“What other choice do we have?”  
  
“They’re ordinary people, Mathilda.” Clive replied, his words weighed down by the loss of hope. “Minor nobles and laborers wouldn’t stand a chance against knights.”  
  
“We don’t stand a chance against the rest of the knights either. Should we rally together with the common folk, train and lead them, then perhaps we would be able to do something.”  
  
Fernand turned to Clive, wishing he could make out his face in the absolute blackness of the cellar.  
  
“Armies aren’t built just using noble blood. There are the officers and then there are the footsoldiers. The three of us can’t be both.”  
  
“You’re right, Fernand.” Clive conceded. “But that doesn’t answer how we’d even be able to raise an army. If word gets out of what we’re doing before we have enough numbers to ensure some safety, all Desaix has to do is send out a few troops and our dream of a deliverance dies with us.”  
  
Mathilda’s words had taken on a new command now that she knew they were truly listening.  
  
“Then we’ll be careful. We’ll give the message that a group is forming to take the throne back to those that can be trusted. From there, we can find a base of operation, start raising funds and training soldiers, build an army.”  
  
“You speak of it as if it were such a simple thing.” Fernand said.  
  
“We have to take this one step at a time or else we’ll be stuck obeying Desaix’s every whim until Zofia dries up and crumbles apart. You said that we dream of a deliverance. Dreaming won’t save Zofia, so either we do something now or we resign ourselves and our kingdom to doom.”  
  
Despite the logic and conviction to her words, Fernand was still reeling. If he agreed to this, he’d be branded a traitor. It would mean turning his back on everything that he had held to be true. No, not all of it. He would be fighting to bring back the world where everything had its place. If there was to ever be a world where he and Clive could marry and live in peace together, they would need to herald it forth.  
  
“To a deliverance, then.” Fernand stated.  
  
A hand folded into his.  
  
“To the deliverance.” Clive repeated.  
  
Their minds set on what they had to do, the three of them parted, heading back to their respective bedrooms. Fernand hadn’t been in his bed for more than a few minutes when his door opened and then quietly shut yet again. There was an intake of breath as Clive opened his mouth to say something, but Fernand cut him off, flipping a corner of the blankets back.  
  
“Come here.”  
  
And so he did, slipping into the bed alongside Fernand. It was awkward as they struggled to find a comfortable way to hold one another. They rarely shared a bed, determined to hold some sense of propriety to their relationship as they’d been raised to. Clive’s breath tickled every time that he exhaled against Fernand's skin and in the late autumn heat the bed quickly became too hot. Fernand couldn’t find it in him to complain, not with this new apprehension for the future coursing through his body.  
  
Clive pushed Fernand’s hair off of his face and then kissed him on the forehead before settling in to try to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite living in a crypt, Fernand was initially very vocal about his hopes for the Deliverance. As unsavory as it was, the idea to create headquarters on terror infested land had been a stroke of genius on Mathilda’s part. The Order avoided such areas whenever possible, knowing how futile it was to try to clear them of the undead monsters that dwelled there. What they hadn’t realized was that such monsters could easily be managed with some magical boundaries and that their presence easily hid a growing army. While being far from pleased with holding strategy meetings and bedding down in the chambers of a mausoleum, Fernand tolerate it for the greater good just as Clive and Mathilda did.  
  
The first batch of recruits for the Deliverance had great potential. Like Lukas, most of them were well educated and had received acceptable training in warfare. Under competent leadership, they’d make soldiers that could contend with the prowling scoundrels in the Order. They were eager to take orders and Fernand was happy to provide them.  
  
What Fernand did take issue with was each new group of soldiers that joined their ranks afterwards. It was only logical that they’d take on rougher characters, but while Clive had accepted the inevitability of having to relegate some of the leadership, Fernand hadn’t thought it completely through. He offered little protest when Lukas was put in charge of recruiting, but when Clive had promoted Forsyth and Python, both of whom never failed to exasperate Fernand with their loud enthusiasm and crude apathy respectfully, it had caused an all out fight.  
  
Clive hadn’t told Fernand that he'd been planning to promote the two to avoid such conflict. It had been a foolish decision on his part that he knew he would be paying for when Fernand stomped into the chamber they’d designated as the war room shouting.  
  
“Have you lost your mind? Forsyth, a lieutenant? What are you going to do next, make Python a major?”  
  
“What would you have me do, Fernand?” Clive demanded. “They know how to command. The three of us can’t provide everything any longer.”  
  
“Then we find someone who is fit to do the job! You do not ride into battle on a donkey because you lack a horse, Clive!” Fernand snapped back.  
  
“The overwhelming majority of the Deliverance is comprised of common people. It is not possible for all of our officers to be of noble birth. Even if it were, there are those we have recruited from remote villages that understand the terrain and tactics of our foes better than we do. To expect them to fall in line when they know better than us is utter foolishness.”  
  
“These brilliant tacticians of yours would have been sliced to ribbons had we not been here to train them!”  
  
Mathilda shoved herself between them, making her presence known. “If you two are going to fight about this, you do it where the entire Deliverance can’t hear you. Do you understand?”  
  
There was silence, Fernand fuming and Clive barely keeping control of his own temper.  
  
“Do you understand?” Mathilda snarled.  
  
“I do.” Clive whispered.  
  
“I do.” Fernand repeated.  
  
“Despite arguing about leadership, neither of you seem keen on showing any. You should both be ashamed.”  
  
At that, Mathilda stalked off, leaving them both to their chagrin.  
  
After taking a deep breath, Fernand looked into Clive’s eyes. “I apologize. Shouting at you like that was childish, but I’m not budging on this, Clive. I earnestly believe this to be a grave mistake. I’d like nothing more than to be proven wrong.”  
  
“Somehow I doubt that.”  
  
Clive went to move past Fernand.  
  
“Clive-”  
  
“I just need some space to breathe right now, Fernand.”  
  
Giving Clive a wide berth, Fernand let him pass.  
  
Fernand’s words echoed in Clive’s mind for hours to come. Needing to get a sense of what he’d gotten himself into, he went to the crypt that had been set up for combat training. Drills had ended hours earlier and there were very few soldiers in the chamber. Most of those there were merely resting, just enjoying some time away from the bulk of the army. It seemed like Python wanted nothing more than to follow their lead, but Forsyth was adamant.  
  
“Come on, Python! If you can hit the target, we’ll leave for the day.”  
  
It was a simple enough bargain. Forsyth wasn’t even asking Python to try to get an arrow within the center rings. Despite that, Python didn’t even attempt it, just staring down Forsyth as he crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto one leg.  
  
“You’re not even trying!”  
  
Python shrugged. “We both know I ain’t going to hit it, so why bother?”  
  
Clive stuck to the shadows, wanting to watch them unnoticed. Forsyth was determined to treat Clive as if he were a god and Python wanted as little to do with him as possible. The two were polar opposites and yet they were inseparable. According to Lukas, Forsyth had signed onto the Deliverance without hesitation when he visited their village. For as little as little interest in the Deliverance as Python possessed, it had shocked everyone when he volunteered not even an hour after Forsyth had.  
  
Nobody was entirely sure what the nature of the two’s relationship was. When one of them became irked enough at the other, they’d brawl like brothers and yet you could regularly turn a corner and find Python asleep with his head in Forsyth’s lap, the latter with a book in one hand as the other offered subtle caresses. If they slept together in their shared quarters, they were quiet about it. Whatever was going on, they seemed content together so people let them go about their businesses without hounding them with questions.  
  
Forsyth stepped into Python’s space, putting his hand on the column of Python’s neck and looking him squarely in the eye as his bright voice dimmed.  
  
“You came here to make sure I didn’t go off and get myself killed. I can handle myself on the battlefield, but I’m not sure that you can do the same.”  
  
After matching Forsyth’s gaze for a good minute, Python looked away and loudly sighed. Drawing an arrow from his quiver, he notched it and drew back in a smooth motion before letting it fly towards one of the targets. It wasn’t anywhere close to being a bullseye, but it did bury itself deep within the target and would have incapacitated a foe if it hadn’t killed them.  
  
“I don’t intend on dyin’ anytime soon, Forsyth. There’s better things to do.”  
  
Python sat down on one of the sarcophagi, setting his bow and quiver aside. Forsyth joined him and they sat shoulder to shoulder in silence. After some time, Python looked at Forsyth. When Forsyth noticed and turned to be face to face. Python slapped him upside the head.  
  
“I made my first bow when I was eight. I know how to shoot a damn arrow.”  
  
“Where’d you get the motivation to do that?” Forsyth asked with some degree of shock.  
  
“My old man told me I could either learn how to build something or come work with him. I figured a bow was the easiest thing I could make.”  
  
Smirking, Forsyth got to his feet, collecting Python’s discarded items. They left after that and Clive could only shake his head at how wrong Fernand had been. Determined to tell him as much, Clive went searching for him. When he couldn’t find Fernand in any of his usual haunts, he grew concerned. He turned a corner and bumped into Mathilda. Her eyes were red and her breathing shuddered.  
  
“What happened?” He questioned as panic began to bloom inside his chest, cutting off his air.  
  
“Fernand’s family was murdered. His siblings, father, stepmother, all of them.”  
  
The air was knocked from Clive’s lungs. He didn’t understand. Fernand’s family had never opposed Desaix. Yet if word had somehow got out that Fernand was part of the Deliverance, Desaix would have taken his retribution just to make it clear what would happen to those who dared to stand against him.  
  
“Where is Fernand?” Clive questioned, his words harsh in his ears.  
  
“He went home to bury them.”  
  
“And you let him go? Desaix will-”  
  
“Desaix didn’t do this.” Mathilda had to stop for a moment, attempting to stay calm enough to speak clearly. “The serfs decided to blame Fernand’s family for the lack of action against the drought and bandits. They stormed the manor and killed them. Those responsible have been arrested and executed, but that doesn’t change anything.”  
  
“I’m going to him.”  
  
Mathilda caught his arm. “Clive, you can’t leave. There has to be at least two of us to lead. Fernand knows this.”  
  
“Mathilda-”  
  
He was about to yank his arm away when he saw the tears in her eyes. The fight drained from Clive’s veins and he was left feeling hollow, tears of his own slip down his face. Stepping forward, Mathilda embraced him and he held her as if they could weather this storm together.


	4. Chapter 4

After the murder of Fernand's family, Clive was done taking risks. Despite his initial hesitation to involve Clair in the Deliverance, he sent for her to come and stay at headquarters where he knew she’d be safe. She made record time on her pegasus, ordering that a bath be drawn for her upon landing. As much as Clive enjoyed having her around, he was concerned. Clair wanted to be a soldier like the rest of them. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her abilities to handle herself, but Clair hadn’t been able to finish her training as a knight. Beyond that, she was eighteen, still very much a child in Clive’s eyes. There were younger soldiers in the Deliverance and that wasn’t something that he, Fernand, or Mathilda took with any degree of pride. It hadn't been Clair's generation that had caused this conflict and yet they were being forced to come in and help end it. Shame wasn't a strong enough word for Clive.  
  
Fernand returned a broken man. In all the time that Clive had known him, Fernand had been a steadfast force in his life. He was resolute, honest, loyal enough to move mountains for those he believed in. When presented with this ghost, Clive had to wonder if this was what Fernand had been reduced to or who he’d been all along. He could go days without speaking to anyone and when he did have something to say, it would cut you to the quick. Fernand always possessed a temper, but it was something that he kept on a tight leash and knew how to apologize for. That discretion seemed long gone along with the light in his eyes.  
  
Clive couldn’t blame him for change, no matter how drastic it was. He remembered what it was like when his and Clair’s parents had been killed in battle, both of them having been knights themselves. At least he and Clair had been prepared from an early age that there might come a day when their parents wouldn’t return home. There was no reason for Fernand to have such thoughts. His mother had died when he was a young child and he had no memories of her. After his father remarried, his stepmother treated him and his sister as if they were her own even as she and his father had their own children. They were a close family that loved one another and the people they were responsible for deeply. The world was a darker place without them in it, without Fernand’s smile.  
  
While Clive and Fernand hadn’t been happy together for some time, Clive hadn’t been willing to call things off, knowing that if he could wait, Fernand would come back to himself. He was too strong not to. So Clive gave Fernand his space, letting him know that he would always be there for him. Fernand had accepted Clive’s words in near silence, but Clive had felt the hand that brushed his arm as he left, even if Fernand had nothing to offer when Clive turned back to him. It was only hours later that Clive was dragged out of a strategy discussion to address the commotion in the hall.  
  
There was no time to ask questions or point fingers. Fernand and Python were in an all out brawl as Mathilda and Forsyth desperately tried to pull them apart. There was blood on ground and smeared between them, but who it had come from and just how injured they actually were was impossible to determine.  
  
“Fernand! Fernand, it’s not worth it!” Mathilda pleaded, trying and failing to get a grip on Fernand’s arm.  
  
Fernand reeled on her, teeth bared. “Stay out of this!”  
  
“Walk away, Python! You’ve proved your point.” Forsyth shouted, getting his arms around Python only to take an elbow to the gut.  
  
“You heard what the bastard said!”  
  
They clashed once again. They were near equally matched, similar in size and weight. The main difference between them was a knight’s training versus the fighting skills that an impoverished childhood had instilled. Where Fernand used measured maneuvers meant to incapacitate foes at a distance, Python countered them by staying in close and getting in jabs and kicks where he could. Fernand feinted and at the cost of a sharp blow to the face his leg came up and smashed into Python’s rib cage. Falling, Python wheezed, trying to get back onto his feet even though the breath had been knocked out of him.  
  
Fernand should have ended the fight there. There was no way that Python would be able to continue. Instead, he fell upon him, seizing him by the throat and wrapping his hand around the hilt of the knife that Python kept strapped to his leg. Knocked from his daze by the very real fear that Fernand was about to use that knife, Clive rushed over and yanked Fernand back by his collar. Fernand looked up at Clive, finally coming back to himself. After hauling Fernand to his feet, Clive half guided, half dragged him away. As they walked,Clive glanced over at Python. His breathing was evening out and Forsyth looked like he was deliberating between tending to what was likely at least one broken rib and pummeling Python himself.  
  
Forcing Fernand to sit down when they reached his quarters, Clive grabbed a waterskin and handkerchief, wetting the latter before trying to wipe the blood from Fernand’s face. The fight had earned him a split lip and a black eye. Clive couldn’t bring himself to believe that Fernand hadn’t done something to earn it.  
  
“You’re fortunate that you didn’t lose any teeth or get your nose broken.” Clive chided.  
  
Fernand ignored him, just as he always did now. Clive knew that it was time to give up. Nothing he could offer Fernand would heal him. Yet as he daubed at Fernand’s bloody lip, the only clear fact in his mind was that he still loved him. He couldn’t believe that Fernand didn’t love him in turn underneath all of his pain.  
  
“You have to see the cognitive dissonance between holding so much resentment for those below you and then sinking to their level, Fernand.”  
  
Fernand winced with every word, but spoke regardless. “I want him flogged for attacking a superior officer.”  
  
“You know we don’t have the supplies to take care of the injuries that would cause. You broke his ribs. He’ll be feeling that for weeks, healer or not. Let that be punishment enough, Fernand.”  
  
“Fine.” Fernand spat out after a few seconds of furious deliberation.  
  
“Python is far stronger than he looks.”  
  
“Don’t remind me. That curr fights in the most undignified manner.”  
  
Clive did recall Python delivering a savage kick between Fernand’s legs, but that wasn’t what had concerned Clive most about the fight.  
  
“He’s not the one who went for the knife.”  
  
Eyes growing hard at that undeniable statement, Fernand’s looked away.  
  
“Fernand, what did you say to him?”  
  
“I wasn’t the one who threw the first punch.”  
  
“That isn’t what I asked.”  
  
Fernand's eyes narrowed. “Forsyth asked me about what he could do to become a knight. I answered honestly, saying that someone like him would never have what it takes. He acted as if I’d struck him. Python came around the corner and demanded to know what happened and I told him. That was when he threw the first punch.”  
  
“Fernand.” Clive sighed, heart aching with disappointment.  
  
“Take his side, then. We both know that I’m right. What was I supposed to do, inspire false hope? The truth is cruel sometimes.”  
  
They fell into silence as Clive found a small tin of healing salve and applied some of it to Fernand’s injuries.  
  
“I love you, Fernand, but you’re in the wrong.”  
  
“You shouldn’t. What have I been to you lately, Clive?”  
  
Clive put the lid back on the tin and set it aside to avoid responding for a few seconds.  
  
“Answer me.” Fernand pushed, voice like a shard of ice.  
  
“I don’t know what to do, Fernand. I don’t know what you need from me.”  
  
“And what do you need from me?”  
  
Clive willed his voice not to crack. “I need you to come back.”  
  
“I don’t think I can, Clive. But I won’t leave your side. You mean too much to me for that.”  
  
“I don’t want a consolation.”  
  
“We’ll set things right one of these days, bring back our old way of life.”  
  
Clive forced himself to leave at that. Outside of the curtain that Fernand had strung up for some privacy, Mathilda was waiting. She walked with Clive, waiting to speak until they were out of Fernand’s earshot.  
  
“For all that you two talk about wanting to bring back the past, you certainly don’t consider the possibility that the way things were might have been horrid in its own way.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Clive questioned wearily.  
  
“Do you know what Forsyth wants most in the world?”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“He wants to be a knight. There’s no doubt that he has the skill for it, the only issue is that he’s of common birth. And in your and Fernand’s world, that’s enough to bar him from his dream. The Deliverance is supposed to put an end to the petty aristocratic feuding that got us in this situation. Yet you have every plan to continue it once Desaix is overthrown because that’s the life that you’re comfortable with, no matter how parasitic it actually is to the people outside of your circle. All you did was lay that out plainly for our soldiers, the people risking their lives for us. If I were Python, I would have punched Fernand as well and you along with him.”  
  
Without another word, Mathilda walked away and Clive was left deflated, her words rattling around in his skull like dice, still deciding how they’d fall.


	5. Chapter 5

After allowing Python some time to heal, Mathilda swallowed her pride went to visit him in the makeshift hospital area. It should have been Fernand coming to apologize for his actions, but knowing that Python would likely never forgive him for what he’d said to Forsyth and she still being irritated with Clive, Mathilda decided to come alone.  
  
While it wasn’t a secret, it also wasn’t common knowledge that Mathilda’s mother hadn’t been a noblewoman. Her father, a rough man who had never given a damn about his title, had met her while traveling overseas with King Lima on a diplomatic mission. During his time there, they’d fallen in love and she agreed to return with him to Valentia. Nobody here knew that she had been a palace maid. It no longer mattered and with the manners she’d picked up from a life of serving royalty she easily fit in with the lords and ladies.  
  
But that didn’t mean that people didn’t know that something about her didn’t belong. She came without a Zofian pedigree and yet Mathilda’s father had married her anyway, a treasonous act in the eyes of the aristocracy. From Mathilda’s earliest memory, her father was teaching her how to be the very best because he knew that if she was anything less, these people would devour her.  
  
Even with her struggles, she knew she had no idea what it was like to worry about not having enough to eat or being jailed for the inability to pay taxes. But she did know just what the aristocrats thought of those they perceived to be below them and how it divided Zofia. As long as she was in the Deliverance, their goal would be not only to overthrow Desaix, but to destroy the wall that had been build between Zofia’s own people. She owed that to the soldiers, her parents, and herself.  
  
While Python did his best to avoid dealing with Clive and had certainly had let his feelings towards Fernand be well known, he would talk with Mathilda, sometimes smile and joke with her. Still, even that had taken time, whereas Forsyth would happily speak with anyone willing to give him the time of day. At the moment, Python was stretched across a low cot, Forsyth sitting against the wall next to him. Forsyth was reading aloud in a soft voice. While Python’s eyes were closed, Mathilda could tell he was awake and listening. Bandages stretched across his bare chest, obstructing a tattoo of a snake curling around his bicep and across his chest. It should have been a relatively simple injury to heal, but they were low on supplies and were saving staves for emergencies. When Forsyth saw her, he rose to his feet and gently poked Python, who opened his eyes.  
  
“How are you feeling, Python?” She asked.  
  
“Just dandy, thanks.” He replied, voice a bit slurred.  
  
Forsyth smirked. “The tonic they gave him for the pain is a bit strong. There wasn’t anything weaker mixed up.”  
  
Mana herbs were wonderful for making pain killers and they were also exceedingly rare. Diluting their effects without spoiling the herb was a delicate art and Mathilda couldn’t blame the healers for being unwilling to risk failure and wasted resources.  
  
“How’s that snooty son of a bitch?” Python continued. “Did I get a good hit in?”  
  
“He has a black eye and a split lip. If he hadn’t kicked you in the ribs it probably would have been worse.”  
  
“Pity.”  
  
Forsyth gave him a dirty look. “Python-”  
  
“No, it’s all right. He had it coming.” Mathilda said.  
  
Both of them were momentarily taken aback at her candor.  
  
“Do tell.” Python quipped.  
  
“What he said was vile and something that I’d expect to hear from Desaix’s army. It shouldn’t matter where one comes from. If they have the skills to lead or become a knight, then that’s what they should be able to do. The two of you are indispensable to the Deliverance and for you to be treated as anything less than that is abhorrent to me. When we reclaim the castle, things are going to change for the better.”  
  
While Forsyth’s eyes were wide at her words, Python squinted in confusion, the drugs leaving his head fuzzy. Mathilda kneeled down to his level, Forsyth quickly mirroring the movement to avoid towering over her.  
  
“I’m going to fight to make sure that everyone in Zofia is held on an equal plain. You two deserve to be knights more than too many people that I know.”  
  
“Thank you, Lady Mathilda.” Forsyth replied, his voice uncharacteristically soft.  
  
Python wasn’t as moved, just waving a hand lazily in the air. “I appreciate it, but I couldn’t care less about getting some fancy title bestowed upon me.”  
  
“Then what do you want when the conflict is over, Python?” Mathilda asked.  
  
“I ain’t one to get all misty eyed about the future, but as long as there’s a tavern nearby and this guy is within walking distance, I’ll be happy enough.”  
  
Forsyth smiled, reaching his hand out on the cot ever so slightly to loop his pinky finger around Python’s. While Mathilda politely ignored the subtle gesture, it was difficult to keep the heat from rising to her face. When she looked at Clive and Fernand, there was nothing like this between. Where Forsyth and Python were best friends and loved each other dearly, albeit in their own unique way, Mathilda doubted that Clive and Fernand even liked one another as people anymore. For as much as Mathilda had attempted to prepare herself for the inevitable day when someone close to her didn’t come home, what she hadn’t considered was how people could be destroyed through means other than death.  
  
“I’ll leave you two be.” Mathilda said in way of parting as she rose to leave.  
  
Heading straight to the practice area, Mathilda picked up a heavy lance and called for the soldiers who were training to come do drills with her, needing to distract herself.


	6. Chapter 6

The Deliverance had taken on enough people that headquarters was no longer large enough to house them all. Beyond that, it wasn’t wise to keep all of their troops in one place in case of an ambush. Two additional outposts were established. Neither Clive nor Mathilda trusted Fernand to keep the peace with the other officers, so he remained at headquarters with Clive while Clair and Mathilda were given command of the outposts. Fernand couldn’t say that he was surprised at their decision, although it smarted just the same. That fight with Python had destroyed his credibility with the others and now every time Fernand passed him or saw him lined up with the others, it was all he could do not to run Python through. Nobody would miss him. Maybe Forsyth would grieve for a period, but he’d find someone new to throw a leg over quickly enough or else he could be thrown back into whatever sty he’d come from.  
  
But he didn’t let his anger boil over a second time. The look on Clive’s face had been enough to let Fernand know that he was crushing the heart that he'd been entrusted with. Such an act was heinous and Fernand loathed himself for it. One of these days Clive was going to realize that he deserved so much better and move on. When that time came, Fernand knew he shouldn’t try to stop him.  
  
Things were quiet with Mathilda and Clair gone. All of the passion for the Deliverance seemed to lie solely with them now. Clive would go around directing activity and giving orders, but Fernand could see that he was growing jaded. The fact that Fernand couldn’t command without earning scowls from the soldiers didn’t improve anything. Something was going to need to change soon if the Deliverance was to survive. Desaix’s troops were moving in, readying an attack on both Mathilda and Clair’s outposts. If action wasn’t taken, all of their heads would be on pikes outside the castle.  
  
The brilliant idea struck Clive to ask General Mycen to lead the Deliverance. As little as Fernand liked the idea of someone as lowborn as Mycen being given such a lofty position, he knew that the man had proven himself time and time again to earn his rank and that if anybody could rally the soldiers, it would be him. Lukas was sent to bring him to headquarters.  
  
It was the happiest Fernand had seen Clive in some too long and it was infectious. Once again, there was real hope between them that they’d see Desaix overthrown and better days were coming that weren’t spent in terror infested tombs, always on edge for an enemy attack.  
  
Rallying himself, Fernand went to Clive’s quarters one night. Clive had been rolling a map he’d been examining back up.  
  
“Hello, Fernand. Is something wrong?”  
  
Fernand shook his head. “No, I just wanted to speak. We don’t seem to do enough of that lately.”  
  
Clive tried and failed to give a convincing smile. They both knew why they hadn’t been talking. But being the patient man that he was, Clive would always give Fernand another chance, whether he deserved it or not. Going and sitting down on his cot, Fernand joined him, keeping a few inches between them. It had been to long since they’d embraced or offered an affectionate word to one another and being alone together now was awkward.  
  
“Be frank with me. Do you support my plan to hand over leadership of the Deliverance to Mycen?”  
  
Fernand didn’t hesitate. “The man at least has a title. Beyond that, he has the real potential to be our salvation. So yes, Clive, I do support your plan.”  
  
“Thank you.” Clive sighed. “It means more than you’d think.”  
  
“I owe you loyalty, Clive. You’ve yet to lead us down a wrong path. I love you and I let myself forget that all too easily. All I want is for Mycen to bring the victory that you’re predicting so that we can leave all of this behind us.”  
  
“Fernand, you have to know by now that the idyllic days we spent while Lima was still on the throne are never coming back. Desaix has had too long to twist Zofia into something unrecognizable. Once we seize the castle, our time will be spend shaping our kingdom back into something functional.”  
  
“I know. All I want is to make up for lost time, Clive, as much as we can.”  
  
Taking Clive’s hand, Fernand brought it to his lips and gently kissed it. As much as he wanted to be polite and let go, he found himself unable to, just keeping Clive close to him as if he was praying over his hand. Clive let him.  
  
“This isn’t like you, Fernand. Did Clair put you up to this?”  
  
“No, although Clair has certainly given me some stern lectures on how I ought to treat you. I deserve them the vast majority of the time.”  
  
“You’ve been gone for so long, Fernand. The few times that I think I see you coming back to yourself you only make promises that you never keep.”  
  
“Give me one last chance, Clive.” Fernand begged, moving off of his cot to slip to his knees as he would for no other person. “Only one.”  
  
It was more than enough opportunity for Fernand to hurt him once again. He meant it. After this, he would be done disappointing Clive, for better or worse.  
  
“Please don’t leave again.”  
  
Even with as much as Fernand wanted to give his word to Clive that he wouldn’t, only his actions mattered now. Fernand returned to sitting beside him put an arm around his shoulders, feeling Clive encircle his waist. For a great while, they just sat like that, Clive resting his cheek atop Fernand’s head.


	7. Chapter 7

When news arrived that Clair’s outpost had been overrun, Fernand could tell that Clive's composure was balanced on a knife’s edge. All it would take was a stray gust of wind for him to lose control of himself. Clair was everything to him and for him to lose her was unthinkable. The outpost was holding out, but supplies were running low and with each passing day more of their soldiers couldn’t get up and fight. If something wasn’t done soon, they’d lose the outpost and all of those within it. Clive didn’t hesitate, assembling a squadron to provide aid. Fernand barely caught him as Clive put his foot into the stirrup.  
  
“You’re not leaving headquarters.” Fernand asserted.  
  
Clive’s voice was frigid. “Stand down, Fernand.”  
  
“We need you here and you know it.”  
  
“She’s my sister! I’m not going to sit here and give orders while she’s out there fighting for her life.”  
  
“I know that! The Deliverance needs you, Clive. We can’t afford to risk losing both you and Mathilda right now. Let me go to Clair.”  
  
As much as Clive wanted to protest, he bit his tongue, knowing that Fernand was right.  
  
“All right.” He conceded in a quiet voice before stepping down and putting his hands on Fernand’s pauldrons. “But if you’re going, you’re returning. I won’t lose you, Fernand.”  
  
“And so you won’t. I’ll bring her back safely, Clive. I give you my word.”  
  
Caught in the heat of the moment, he and Clive came together hard in an all too brief few seconds of teeth and tongue before Clive pushed him away.  
  
“Go!”  
  
So Fernand did, waiting until he was in the saddle with the soldiers Clive had assembled thundering behind him before he wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. It was the first time he’d gone on a mission for the Deliverance in too long and he wasn’t going to to fail. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fernand could have gotten past Alm being the one to provide the troops Clair needed to take back the outpost. He could have gotten past Lukas standing up to him. Where he drew the line was Clive’s decision to hand over leadership of the Deliverance to Alm. While Fernand had sworn to Clive years earlier that he’d follow him into the very mouth of hell, this was where Fernand’s loyalty stopped. Clive hadn’t expected that the day would ever come where he’d reach the end of Fernand’s dedication and it was difficult to not succumb to the dark clouds that rolled into his mind.  
  
And it was here that Clive was finally forced to confront the hatred that had been growing malignant in Fernand’s heart. Alm understood what it was like to run and be a part of a military and in all reality was nothing more than a glorified general despite being named the Deliverance new figurehead. The vast majority of key decisions were to remain in his, Mathilda, and Fernand’s hands. It still hadn’t been enough for Fernand, even knowing all that Alm had done for them. Alm’s humble roots were enough to make Fernand hate him.  
  
After Fernand had stormed out of the meeting, Clive had followed. No matter how much Clive shouted his name, Fernand refused to acknowledge him. At the back exit of the headquarters, Fernand snarled at a passing soldier to ready his horse. The soldier ran off, doing as she was told, and Clive was enraged by the way he’d spoken to her.  
  
Clive called out once again, patience at an end. “Fernand-”  
  
Fernand turned on him. “I begged you to give me one last chance. Keep it. I can see now that none of this has been worth it. You claim that I haven’t been myself, Clive, but perhaps the truth is that after all of these years we’re finally seeing one another for who we truly are. I used to think you were a pillar of what a knight should be. Now I know that your resolve is weaker than Lima’s ever was.”  
  
Fernand's horse was led to him and he swung into the saddle. Before he could pull his horse around to leave, Clive grabbed the reins.  
  
“Fernand, please!”  
  
“I hope you come to your senses before that boy gets you and everyone we love killed, Clive.”  
  
Shocked at his words, Clive let go. Fernand spurred his horse forward, galloping away. Clive had no choice but to let him go. For a brief moment, Fernand’s chin tilted as if to look back, but he shook his head and just dug his heels into the horse's side. There was no point in holding out hope that Fernand was just blowing off steam. He’d meant every word that he’d said.  
  
Clive forced himself to walk back into headquarters with a straight spine and his head held high. In getting Clair back, he’d lost Fernand. He’d honestly believed that he and Fernand were going to make it through this together. After all those months of struggling, they’d been happy again, if only for a short while. It was all for nothing. If all the fighting that Fernand had done beside the Deliverance hadn’t thawed his heart, Clive shouldn’t have ever considered that he could.  
  
It was time to let Fernand go. Even so, Alm’s words echoed in Clive’s mind. Fernand would always have a place in the Deliverance. Just the same, there would always be a spot for Fernand in Clive’s heart. Whether or not Fernand wanted either of those things was another matter entirely.


	8. Chapter 8

For too long, it was as if Fernand and Clive had both left. Clive functioned like an enchanted puppet, performing only the actions it had been told to do. It was difficult for Mathilda not to hate Fernand for it. Too many of Fernand’s problems had been his own fault and what infuriated Mathilda the most was that she could see that Fernand wasn’t utterly unaware of it. He’d often approach the cusp of reaching a realization before losing his nerve and backing away, shielding his ego.  
  
The Deliverance functioned like normal without Fernand, perhaps even better now that soldiers weren’t worried about getting their head bit off if they ran into him. As guilty as Mathilda felt about it, there was some relief in not having Fernand around, no matter how much she cared about him.  
  
Time began to pass. There was work to do and battles to be fought. Days could go by where Mathilda didn’t think of Fernand beyond hoping that he was safe, wherever he was. As the campaign began to press closer and closer to Zofia Castle, loneliness began to ache inside her chest. Alm and the villagers that had accompanied him were always around one of the campfires together at night, Claire and Silque often accompanying them. Python, Forsyth, and Lukas spent their time reading, training, and resting together. Witnessing all of this only bitterly reminded Mathilda of how her leadership position had forced her to withdraw from such human comforts.  
  
She, Clive, and Fernand had always functioned as a triad and interacting outside of it had always been stilted. With Fernand unlikely to ever come back and with every day carrying fresh dangers, Mathilda was determined to reinvigorate her relationship with Clive. They were too close to let this fall out tear them apart. One evening, after she and Clive’s work appeared to be done, she went into his tent. While he wasn’t expecting to see her, busy with readying himself for sleep, he set his toothbrush aside and smiled.  
  
“Mathilda, do you need something?”  
  
“Not at all. I just wanted to see you.”  
  
“I’m glad.” He gestured to one of the chairs pulled up to the table. “Please, have a seat.”  
  
She did and he joined her after rinsing out his mouth, moving his chair so that they were face to face without the table between them. Despite the long day of work, his skin was bright, eyes clear like he’d been getting enough sleep. He appeared genuinely happy to be speaking with her, nothing else on his mind.  
  
“I didn’t see you today.”  
  
“I was overseeing the training of the new recruits. They’re siblings. If they could be taught separately we’d make much better headway, but we’re short handed enough as is. When they’re together, they get distracted. Luthier wants to correct something that Delthea is doing, Delthea doesn’t want to train at all. As difficult as it is to handle the two of them, magic as strong as theirs can very well turn the tide of a battle.”  
  
“If anyone can manage this, it’s you.” He told her, no flattery in his tone.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“There’s a reason we’re marching into Rigel, Mathilda. Your heroism should stand as in inspiration for generations to come.”  
  
“Clive, you and I both know that I didn’t accomplish any of this single handedly. You devalue us all by idolizing me like this. Don’t let your love for me cloud your vision.”  
  
At her final sentence, Clive went rigid in his chair, heat rising to his face. She couldn’t understand what she’d done to make him react like this. Going over what she said, she realized that Clive must have misinterpreted what she’d said and Mathilda couldn’t stop her eyes from widening.  
  
“Clive are you in love with me?”  
  
The days before any of them had began to think about romance were so much simpler. Clive had followed her around like a puppy, but having grown up with him, Mathilda found it difficult to picture Clive as anything other than a friend. It took her seeing how tenderly that Clive treated Fernand when the two started courting for her to begin thinking of him as a man capable of love and sex. She would have been lying if she were to say she hadn’t been envious of the closeness the Clive and Fernand had shared, that she hadn’t thought about what it must have been like for Fernand to be with a man being so attentive to his needs, so incredibly smitten with him.  
  
The feelings had been on and off for years. They weren’t anything that Mathilda couldn’t manage and she never let them get in the way of their friendship. Now, the idea that she might not have to guard her heart was strange and freeing.  
  
“I do.” He whispered. “I didn’t believe that now was an appropriate time to offer such declarations.”  
  
“Clive, is that really the truth?”  
  
There was a heavy pause between them.  
  
“No,” He eventually said. “I’ve been keeping my feelings to myself because I assumed you had more important things to worry about than my affections.”  
  
“I’m rather offended. As trivial as you might find them, I would have enjoyed being able to decide what to do with your affections for myself.”  
  
She raised her hand and after some hesitation, Clive reached over to interlace their fingers. Very slowly, the two of them leaned in towards one another. Clive hadn’t shaved and his stubble scraped against her cheek. All she had to do was turn her head to kiss him, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Ever the gentleman, Clive held as still as a statue, letting her find what she wanted. For as much as Mathilda desired to kiss him, hold him, she had doubts that this was a wise course of action for either of them.  
  
“Clive, I don’t want to be a tool for you to use to recover from Fernand.” She murmured.  
  
“I’ve grieved for Fernand. At this point, I’m ready to open my heart to another. I’d very much like it to be you if you’d have me.”  
  
“How long have you felt this way?” She asked.  
  
“I’ve never been able to be subtle about my admiration for you. My heart doesn’t wander, but there was a period where I thought I’d go mad trying to make up my mind whether to court you or Fernand. When I realized that Fernand was interested in me and you weren’t, I let my feelings towards you go until they returned as of late.”  
  
Clive gently moved a piece of hair that had slipped past her headpiece off of her face.  
  
“If we’re going to have anything together, it should be because we want to, not because we’re frightened of being alone.”  
  
Her smile fell away and she looked down at their joined hands.  
  
“I do want to see what we could have together, but I’m also afraid of losing you like we lost Fernand. The two of you were always so alike. I’m terrified that you’ll make the same mistake.”  
  
“I will never leave you or the Deliverance, Mathilda. You have my word.” He promised, gravely serious.  
  
“And I promise you the same. May I kiss you?”  
  
“Nothing would make me happier.”  
  
So Mathilda did. Clive’s reaction was so tentative, radiating disbelief that any of this was actually occurring. Needing to prove to him that it indeed was, Mathilda touched his face with her free hand and kissed him harder. Finally, Clive melted into her touch, placing a hand on her waist and pulling her into his lap. She eagerly complied and Clive moved to lavish her neck with hungry kisses and soft grazes of the teeth. As he did so, she buried her hands in his hair, encouraging him until she lost her patience and tugged him back up to meet her lips once again, slipping her tongue into his mouth and relishing the small noises that he made.  
  
As good as it felt to be with Clive like this, now wasn’t the night for anything more, not when they both had other things that needed their entire focus and energy.  
  
“Kiss me again when we have Zofia Castle.” She whispered in his ear.  
  
“I’ll bring you Desaix myself.”  
  
“You better not. Don’t be reckless, Clive.”  
  
“As you command.”  
  
Mathilda kissed him once more and then slipped out of the tent. As it crossed her mind to hope didn't run into anybody, allowing her some time to think before having to explain this new development, she was met with Python. Holding a bottle in either hand, it was difficult to tell whether he had just returned from his revelries or was about to go in search of them. He met her gaze with a knowing smirk before walking away.


	9. Chapter 9

Berkut always took care to include Fernand in his strategy meetings. The amount of trust that Fernand was offered in Rigel was shocking. Fernand seemed to make up Berkut's sole security force. In all reality, Berkut didn’t need anyone to protect him with his strength. Still, were Fernand in his position, he would have never welcomed a Deliverance defector so eagerly into his fold. Perhaps his hatred for what the Deliverance had become was all too apparent and that was why it was believed he wouldn’t raise a hand against Rigel. It was a depressing notion. He’d been a founding member of the Deliverance and now he was part of the plans to annihilate it. What had changed so profoundly for him? The answer that he always came up with was never satisfying. He knew better than to blame his mistakes and misfortunes on others and yet he couldn’t make the final leap to accepting the parts of this that were his own doing.  
  
From what Fernand observed, Berkut had little kindness to offer others. He reserved a small amount of it for Fernand and the rest went solely to his fiance Rinea. None of the Rigelian soldiers wanted anything to do with Fernand and they met him with stoney silence. Berkut would speak to him about strategy and politics, but little else. The first time that Fernand had a genuine conversation since being pressed into the Rigelian army was at the conclusion of a tense war meeting after the reclaimation of Zofia Castle. At Berkut’s demand, the room cleared out and Fernand believed he was the only person remaining. He desperately needed a moment to himself just to think and try to swallow down his emotions.  
  
When Rinea laid a soft hand on his shoulder, he nearly fell out of his seat. His reaction startled her just as much as she startled him.  
  
“My apologies, milady!” Fernand exclaimed, getting to his feet.  
  
“No, it’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong.”  
  
There was a heavy moment of silence. The kind touch that she offered was the first time anyone had been gentle with him since he’d left the Deliverance and Fernand tried not to let it show on his face.  
  
“You just looked so lonely. I thought that you might want someone to speak with.” Rinea explained.  
  
Tears pricked at Fernand’s eyes, but he forced them into submission.  
  
“Thank you, milady. That’s highly considerate of you.”  
  
“You always look like there's someone you miss. Do you have a sweetheart?”  
  
Even after having had no significant human interaction for far too long, he would have traded anything not to have been having this conversation. Fernand closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  
  
“Not any longer, milady.”  
  
While Rinea didn’t ask for a further explanation, her doe eyes encouraged him to elaborate. He gave in, hoping for some sort of catharsis to come from the encounter.  
  
“Have you heard of Sir Clive?” He asked her.  
  
She nodded. “It’s difficult not to have.”  
  
Fernand’s heart ached at what Rinea had to be recalling. The battle exploits of Clive and Mathilda were well known among the Rigelian army and it was common for a flash of blonde hair to send soldiers fleeing for their lives. Some soldiers that survived skirmishes with the Deliverance reported seeing them kiss in the middle of the battle field, Rigelian soldiers lying at their horses’ hooves. Fernand questioned just how accurate the picture that they painted actually was, but he didn’t doubt the part about Clive and Mathilda being in love.  
  
They deserved one another, both of them as close to perfect as human beings could be. In many ways, it had always been the two of them and then Fernand. This was only confirming things for him. The Rigelian army was being obliterated by the Deliverance because Clive had taken a risk. In pushing Fernand away, he’d secured the Zofian throne and was now headed straight for Rigel castle.  
  
There was no need for anyone to tell Fernand that he was wrong. He knew it and was becoming more aware of what he’d lost because of it with each passing day. Unable to hold in the first shudder, Fernand couldn’t catch the tear that escaped and it slid down his face. Before it could slip off of his jaw, Rinea withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve and offered it to Fernand.  
  
“Here.”  
  
Accepting it, he dabbed under his eyes, trying and failing to pull himself together. Rinea herded him into one of the chairs, sitting down next to him.  
  
“Fernand, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to upset you like this, but it seems that I have anyway.”  
  
“None of this is your fault, Milady, I assure you.”  
  
“If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If you want company, I’ll stay here with you. If you’d like to leave and pretend that this never happened, I won’t tell a soul.”  
  
“You’re too kind, Milady.” Fernand told her, ashamed at the tremor in his voice.  
  
“I know what it’s like to feel alone. Sometimes one person can make a difference in someone else’s life.”  
  
How such a wonderful person like Rinea ended up this cruel world, Fernand could have pondered for years. Where ever she’d come from, perhaps the same place produced indomitable souls who rose from nothing like Alm, people who stood apart from their family to do what was right like Lukas, even those possessing loyalty as inscrutably fierce as Python.  
  
“In another life, I could have been the one at Clive’s side in the heat of battle, enemy soldiers cowering before me. Clive and I were both wrong about the word on such a fundamental level, the only difference is that he listened when people told him as such whereas I went forward with my foolish ways. My stubbornness cost me my love, my friends, everything. I have nothing left. I always told myself that I held my beliefs because of my family, but I can see know that they would be ashamed of me if they were alive.”  
  
Instead of offering any words of consolation or wisdom, Rinea reached out and gently placed her hand on his. In the distance, the castle clock began to chime, its bells ringing like a death knell. Rising, she withdrew her hand and Fernand could have wept at the loss of contact.  
  
“I’m sorry, but I have to leave now.”  
  
“I understand, Milady.” Fernand said softly. “Thank you.”  
  
Smiling ever so slightly at him, she withdrew and Fernand heard the heavy door of the war room close behind her. Fernand knew that if he survived the siege of Castle Rigel, Alm would spare his life. When he kneeled before Berkut and begged him to do the same for Clive, Mathilda, Claire, even just one of them, Berkut refused, disgusted at the very notion. They’d been essential to retaking Zofia Castle and Berkut would never forget it.  
  
When Fernand met Berkut, he’d been exuberant. In serving him, he was finally striving towards something logical. He could have followed Berkut to the ends of the Valentia if he commanded him to. And then he’d been brought into battle against the Deliverance, watching as Berkut ran through their lines, killing for sport. He knew the people fighting that Berkut was barreling towards, eager to maim.  
  
The image of Fernand’s smoldering manor flitted behind his eyes. For all that he had believed he was working towards preventing such a tragedy from ever occurring again, the truth that Fernand was presented with time and time again refused to shift into something more palatable. He’d seen what the Rigelians did to land that they captured, slaughtering those who had any potential to rise against them. Rigel wasn’t restoring Zofia to any former glory, it was actively killing her.  
  
He’d initially been relieved when he was given to Berkut rather than being executed on the spot. Now, he knew that he should have pleaded for death.


	10. Chapter 10

Clive’s new armor chafed, but it was all an unfortunate part of breaking it in. To his side, Mathilda didn’t appear to be doing much better, although she ignored the hindrance where Clive was letting it distract him from his training. Forsyth and Lukas were sparring nearby, shoving each other with their heavy shields and looking for openings in the other’s armor to thrust their practice lances. Farther back, Python was munching on an apple and watching the training around him with disinterest, occasionally cutting off a piece and giving it to his new horse, who happily accepted the offerings. Clair soared overhead, an occasional javelin sinking into a target below.  
  
“You’re letting your elbow slip.” Mathilda told him.  
  
He adjusted his position. “Thank you, my darling.”  
  
Even though he spurred his horse forward, aiming for the center of the target with his lance, his mind was elsewhere. It felt like only yesterday that they’d retaken Zofia Castle. In private, Clive had experienced his fair share of doubts that they’d ever accomplish their goal. Now, against all odds, they were headed straight to Rigel Castle. If it weren’t for the burials after each battle, Clive very well might have fallen into utter disbelief that any of this was happening. But nothing anchored one to the present quite like death.  
  
Clive had once heard Luthier telling Alm that everything came down to odds, whether it be magic or anything else in the universe. Certain items had to align before anything else could happen, some being more likely to align than others. There were equations influenced by certain actions and others were always independent. It had made Clive think. What were the odds that everyone he cared for would make it through this war? Were they the same with each passing day or did they change as spirits dipped and rose, as injuries and fatigue began to catch up with individuals from battle to battle? He didn’t want to know how improbable it might have been for them all to have made it this far almost entirely unscathed. Luck and odds were two different things. Luck turned up. Odds were cold and unchanging, no matter how desperately you needed them to be in your favor. When Clive’s luck ran out, pure statistics wouldn’t show a scrap of mercy.  
  
The very real idea that Clive might have to meet Fernand in combat entered his mind. For a moment, the target he was using wasn’t made of straw but flesh and bone, bleeding from where Clive’s lance had pierced it. Clive lost his grip on his lance and it fell to the ground with a clatter. As he fought to maintain his balance on his gelding, Mathilda rode up beside him.  
  
“What’s wrong, Clive?”  
  
He sighed. “I was thinking of Fernand.”  
  
“I was thinking of him earlier as well, even went so far as to make an offering to Mila to keep him away from the castle.”  
  
“It used to pain me to think about him, now it’s just exhausting.”  
  
“Would you ever want to see him again?” Mathilda asked gently.  
  
“Would you?”  
  
“Yes. I’ve given up on saving Fernand, but I don’t believe that he can’t save himself. If that day comes, I want there to be something for him to come home to.”  
  
Clive nodded to himself. “You possess a kind heart.”  
  
“As do you, my love. It’s nobody’s choice but your own what you’ll do should you come face to face with Fernand again. Whatever happens, I hope that you choose what you feel to be right.”  
  
He certainly hoped so as well. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fernand hurried to saddle his horse, not trusting anyone in the castle not to report his absence to Berkut. His mind was made up. To hell with the consequences, he was going out there. He was a founding member of the Deliverance and he was going to act like it.  
  
“And just where are you going?” Berkut questioned, voice dripping with venom.  
  
Fernand's hands stilled and he forced himself to turn to Berkut. Thoughts grinding to a halt, he could barely breathe, let alone think of a lie. For a brief moment, he considered telling Berkut the truth. He was going ride straight into the Deliverance lines and then turn around fight. Let Berkut kill him for it. It would be better than standing alongside him for another moment.  
  
“I’m waiting!” Berkut roared.  
  
Not flinching, Fernand was about to open his mouth to reply when Rinea emerged from behind the corner, leading her gleaming white mare by the reins to where Berkut and Fernand were standing. Upon seeing her, Berkut's tone and expression immediate softened.  
  
“Rinea, what are you doing out here?”  
  
Her answer came quickly and smoothly. “I asked Fernand to escort me from the castle. I don’t feel safe here.”  
  
“Our walls will hold,” Berkut tried to assure her. “You have nothing to be frightened of.”  
  
“Please, Berkut, I need to leave. I can’t stand the fighting.”  
  
Her eyes pleaded for him to let her go and after a few seconds, Berkut sighed and turned to Fernand.  
  
“Take the underground escape route. When you get to the fork, take the passage on the right. You’ll end up far from the castle by the time the path ends. I’ll rendezvous with you later. Keep her safe at all costs.”  
  
“Yes, milord.” Fernand said, trying to hide his disbelief over the situation.  
  
After Rinea gently took and squeezed Berkut’s hand, he left them alone in the stables, heading back to command the troops doing their damndest to hold back the Deliverance. If Rudolph had any sense, he’d send Berkut away. While he wouldn’t survive this siege, he might as well assure that his heir did.  
  
“Finish readying your horse.” Rinea told him, voice coming as close to an order as he’d ever heard.  
  
Not sure what to say after she’d lied to her fiance to save his life, Fernand did as he was told, cinching the straps of his saddle and then grabbing his lance. Rinea stepped up and onto her horse with grace and Fernand mirrored the movement.  
  
“This way.” She directed.  
  
Fernand had his horse follow hers, riding from the stables into the castle halls. There was too much panic for anyone to berate the horses walking past priceless heirlooms. Eventually, Rinea stopped in front of a tapestry, tracing one of the constellations woven into it with her finger. It responded to her touch, revealing itself to be an illusion of magic and melting away to reveal a hidden door. Fernand jumped off his horse to open it for them, the door just large enough to allow the horses to pass through. Rinea knew the way, showing no fear in the unlit catacombs. Enchanted torches lit themselves as they passed by them now and then, but the horses were spooked by the enclosed space and had to be encouraged to keep moving forward. Hooves on stone was the only sound aside from the occasional scurrying of rats and drips of moisture. Every echoed and eventually Fernand had to speak lest he go mad.  
  
“You knew what I was about to do, milady. Why spare me?” He asked softly.  
  
She didn’t look at him, just urging her horse forward in the damp catacombs.  
  
“Berkut wants nothing more than to be emperor of this Rigel, but I can’t imagine anything more appalling. The Divine Accord should have never been broken. All it has led to is suffering. I understand what the Deliverance is trying to achieve. I hope that they do so. For you to want to return to them and aid in setting things right makes you a good man. There aren’t enough good men in this world and I wasn’t about to let you be a martyr.”  
  
“Thank you, milady, but I’m afraid I am not a good man.”  
  
“You are.” She insisted. “So is Berkut. The absence of mistakes is not what makes someone good. It’s what you make of them and how you learn from them. You’ve changed since you arrived here. I’m starting to see that same change in Berkut. I can only hope that once he realizes that he will never become emperor he will give up lusting for power and go back to being the man I fell in love with.”  
  
Fernand was stunned into silence. Being comparable to Berkut used to fill him with pride. While the idea now repulsed him, he could see that Rinea was using the notion to hold out hope. And for her sake, Fernand desperately wished that Berkut would indeed recover from his errors as Fernand was trying to. He was unsure of whether or not the second chance that he yearned for would ever come. If Berkut had any sense, he wouldn’t put himself in a position where he needed one as well.


	11. Chapter 11

Fernand was being given a greater death than he deserved. There had been an excruciating moment when Rinea’s magic reached him and then nothing. He was foolish enough to wonder if her attack missed him before be began to feel his insides being eaten away at. As he stumbled away, desperate to escape Duma tower and all its horrors, coughed up gouts of blood. Sensing he was at the brink of death, the terrors left him alone, searching for prey that would put up a fight.  
  
Rounding yet another of the tower’s infinite bends, Fernand lost his footing and stumbled. He could see the light coming from the entrance. It didn’t matter if he’d have to drag himself out, he was not going to die here. Someone had to know what Berkut had done, what had become of Duma and Mila. There were footsteps and the heavy temple door was pried open. If it be more of Jedah’s lot, they would kill him without hesitation and Fernand would be powerless to stop it. Perhaps the death they would offer him would be a blessing in comparison to what Rinea’s magic was beginning to do to him. He’d never known pain like this, possessing such a white-hot intensity that he couldn’t even scream as he forced his failing body to move. Perhaps this was the penance for his sins. He would bear it if it meant providing Clive and the others what little protection he could offer.  
  
“Fernand!”  
  
Duma’s magic had taken Rinea’s kindness and transformed it into something twisted and cruel. To make Fernand hear Clive’s voice in his death throes was reprehensible. Even so, Fernand found himself turning towards the phantom, ready to be met with nothing but empty air.  
  
There was a clatter as Clive threw his lance aside and jumped down from his horse, sprinting over to Fernand and pulling him into his arms. When Fernand felt Clive’s breath on his face, smelled the sweat and horse on him, heard him shudder as he took in the blood on Fernand, he dared to believe that this was the real Clive. Hearing voices both familiar and foreign, Fernand looked over Clive’s shoulder to see an army assembled behind him. Rinea may have known enough about Clive to make an illusion of him, but she had never heard of many of the others. This was real. Clive was here with him.  
  
He’d clawed his way down here to complete a mission and he completed it before he said another word. When he’d given his warning to Alm and the others, he turned his full attention to Clive. As much as he wanted to say goodbye to Mathilda and Clair, there wasn’t time. If he could only give his final moments to one person, there was no question of who it would be. He’d been thinking about what had went unsaid ever since he’d made the mistake of leaving the Deliverance that fateful day and knew exactly what he wanted to say.  
  
When he made his peace, knowing that Clive had forgiven him, perhaps even still loved him, Fernand let his eyes shut even as Clive frantically called his name, pleading with him to stay alive. Fernand was just going to have to let him down one last time. With Clive holding him close, Fernand began to feel himself slipping away into blissful nothingness. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Fernand fell into unconsciousness, Clive summoned the courage to reach and out touch him. There was blood dripping from between his chapped lips and open wounds across his face from where he’d dragged himself across the stone. When Fernand closed his eyes, Clive genuinely believed he was gone. Even though he knew he needed to move on, that he was holding up Alm and the others, he’d been unable to get to his feet, just cradling Fernand’s body to his. Falling apart and not being able to gather himself back up, Clive laid his head on Fernand’s chest, unsure whether or not he wanted to bellow and tear the tower apart brick by brick or curl up until he was no larger than a speck of dust.  
  
That was when Clive had heard his heart beating. It was incredibly faint and slow, but it was there. And it wasn’t going away.  
  
“He’s alive.” He murmured before rallying his voice. “Alm, he’s alive!”  
  
Alm didn’t hesitate. “Silque, help him. When he can be moved, get him out of here, Clive.”  
  
“Alm-”  
  
“We can only take so many up the tower for this mission to succeed. If something happens to me, I need you to lead. Stay here.”  
  
“Take care of him, Clive.” Mathilda told him. “We’ll be fine.”  
  
“Of course we will.” Clair added, voice failing to take on the haughtiness she was searching for. “Fabulous as your skills are, brother, we’re more than capable of making due without them.  
  
“Thank you.” Clive whispered as Silque rushed to Fernand.  
  
Alm nodded and then gave the order for the rest of the company to move out. There had been no way for Clive to make the right decision. Either he went with the group to slay Duma and left Fernand to his fate or he stayed with him and Alm’s group was down a lance. Alm had known it all and taken the choice from Clive’s hands.  
  
“I need you to get his armor off, starting with the chestplate.” Silque calmly directed.  
  
Readily obeying, Clive moved so that Fernand was resting against Silque. She put her hands on either side of his face, willing healing magic into his blood. Trying to stay focused on his task, Clive took the tip of his lance and cut through the leather binding the armored plates together, ripping each piece from his body as it came free. All of the color was gone from Fernand’s face. Combined with his platinum hair, when Clive looked at him, it was all he could do to convince himself that Fernand was not yet a corpse.  
  
“Have you stabilized him?”  
  
Her brow was knitted together in frustration. “No. My magic isn’t strong enough to banish whatever is trying to kill him.”  
  
“Then what do we do?” Clive demanded.  
  
“We try something stronger. Help me.”  
  
Together they stripped Fernand of the rest of his armor, ripping open large sections of his clothing. When they’d finished, Silque put her hand on Clive’s arm.  
  
“I’m going to need your blood.”  
  
Clive didn’t hesitate, tearing off his gauntlet and drawing his lance tip over his wrist.  
  
“Hold him.”  
  
He took Fernand from her as blood began to seep from his wound, Silque dipped her fingers into his arm and began to draw complicated symbols across Fernand’s body. Even if terrors preferred to lurk in the depths of the tower, the smell of fresh blood has the real potential to lure them in. There was no way that Clive and Silque would be able to fight a group of them off even if they didn’t have Fernand to tend to.  
  
“Will this work?”  
  
She continued to create the lines of blood as she answered him. “If it doesn’t, I’m afraid we’re out of options.”  
  
After making one final stroke with her finger, Silque put one hand over Fernand’s heart and the other over his mouth. His breathing was so shallow it was hardly noticeable, the line of blood trickling from Fernand’s lips never ceasing. Soft light emanated from Silque’s hands and the blood sigils. She closed her eyes, focusing her power. Nothing happened. Still, she didn’t give up, keeping at it until sweat began beading on her face and her breath grew ragged. There was no need for Silque to tell Clive that she wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer.  
  
Clive buried his face in Fernand’s hair. They’d been apart for so long that Clive had forgotten what Fernand smelled like. The burning tang of magic and blood covered up anything that Fernand might have been. Fernand’s almost childish notion of wanting to return to the past made more sense to Clive in that moment than anything else.  
  
“Please, Fernand.” Clive whispered. “Fight this. Please.”  
  
Silque’s healing light faded. When she opened her eyes only to give Clive a steady look before shaking her head, Clive’s heart shattered. He couldn’t decide if it had been kind or cruel of the gods to let him see Fernand once more as the man he’d fallen in love with only to take him from him not even minutes later. Shaking, Clive couldn’t stop the keen that had been building up within his chest from escaping.  
  
“I’m so sorry.” Silque whispered, tears beginning to slip down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
As Clive held Fernand, unwilling to let him die on the cold stone of Duma tower, Silque quickly wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, her attention snapping to the corridor. Clive didn’t need her to tell him that terrors were skulking nearby.  
  
“Milord.”  
  
Clive didn’t respond.  
  
“Milord, please, we must leave. Think of Lady Mathilda and Lady Clair.”  
  
Knowing that she was right even through his grief, Clive began to rise. The idea of leaving Fernand here drove the shards of his heart even deeper into his chest, but there was no other choice. They couldn’t risk being weighed down by a corpse if they were to make it out of the wastelands around Duma tower to where the rest of the army was waiting for Alm’s elite group to return.  
  
He was lifting Silque onto his horse when there was a faint gasp. Hearing Fernand’s final breath forced Clive to swing onto his saddle behind Silque. They had no reason to stay now. Clive pulled the reins and turned his horse around. It was all Clive could do to focus on the sounds of hooves on the stone, willing himself not to look back.  
  
“Clive.”  
  
It was so soft that Clive believed he imagined it. But Silque turned around, eyes wide. Clive lept down and sprinted back to Fernand, feeling nothing as he fell to knees beside him.  
  
“Help me get him onto my horse.” He called back to Silque.


	12. Chapter 12

When Fernand was poked in the face, he opened his eyes and shot out a hand, unsure of where he might be, but in no mood for slap and tickle. His wrist was seized and immobilized effortlessly.  
  
“So you’re alive after all. Guess I win the pot.”  
  
The voice belonged to Python. In total disbelief, all Fernand could do was wait for his vision to come into focus. He was one of countless soldiers lying in lines of cots and bedrolls as a limited number of healers struggled to treat so many people. His armor and clothes were gone, magical symbols drawn all over his body in flaking blood. A small blanket had been draped over his body for modesty and Fernand tried to adjust it to cover more skin to no avail.  
  
“We don’t have many secrets anymore, milord.” Python quipped with a crude wink.  
  
“Stop that.” Fernand demanded, the feebleness in his voice sapping the aggression from his words.  
  
“Sorry, stud. Just trying to lighten the mood.”  
  
When Fernand went to reply, he couldn’t stop the hacking cough that sprang from his lungs. Python turned his head, blood spattered on the side of this face. As he wiped it away with the back of his hand, Fernand sank into his cot, thoughts racing and his heart palpitating.  
  
“Relax,” Python drawled, frowning. “You ain’t dying anytime soon. That magic you got hit with did a number on you, though. The healers said that you should expect to be coughing up a bit of blood here and there for the rest of your life, which should be a few good decades as long as you take your medicine like a good boy.”  
  
Python reached across Fernand, snatching up a bottle filled with a blood red liquid. Removing the stopper, he reached his finger inside and then popped it in his mouth. He mulled over the taste and then brought the bottle to Fernand’s lips.  
  
“Take a good swig. You’ll have to drink this twice a day until you finally kick the bucket.”  
  
“Is Clive alive? And Mathilda, Clair-”  
  
“They’re all fine, but you won’t be if you don’t drink this.”  
  
Pacified for now, Fernand swallowed down a mouthful of the potion. The taste was vile, bitter beyond reason. He was left sputtering as Python sealed the bottle and set it aside.  
  
“Why are you here with me?”  
  
“General’s orders. There aren’t enough healers to go around so anyone who can stand is helping out.”  
  
“Thank you.” Fernand told him, meaning it.  
  
“You were a real bastard back at headquarters, you know that? Don’t think I’ve forgotten, even with what you did the other night." He sighed and moved from side eying Fernand to looking one cot over where Fernand recognized Forsyth's sleeping form. "We barely made it up Duma tower and yet you crawled all the way down it while your insides turned to mush. That witch that zapped you tried to sneak up on Forsyth. If you hadn’t warned us like you had… I’m ready to call us even, sir, even if it hurt when I sneezed for weeks.”  
  
When Python offered him his hand, Fernand shook it. Python’s hands were heavily calloused and well muscled from a lifetime of work. What was he thinking of Fernand’s hands? Despite the time with a lance, his were soft from having access to proper gloves and rich creams all of his life. There was a story behind Python’s hands whereas Fernand’s only told of excess.  
  
“Was Lady Rinea’s death…” Fernand was unsure how to word his question, knowing that Python and the others had only seen her as a monster actively trying to kill them.  
  
Python understood him, gruff voice softening. “It was quick. I got her in the heart with an arrow.”  
  
Fernand was unsure what to say to that. As glad as he was that her death had been a gentle one, she deserved to be alive. She wanted nothing more than for Berkut to be able to save himself as Fernand had. Instead, he’d dragged all of them down with him, Fernand being the sole survivor. The world they lived in was cruel, even if part of him knew that Rinea was now at Berkut’s side, exactly where she wanted to be. And he was here, back with the Deliverance. She would have been pleased to know that.  
  
A healer dressed as a priestess of Mila came over to Python.  
  
“You haven’t slept since before the battle, Python. Get some rest.”  
  
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Python said with an exhausted smirk as she turned to leave.  
  
He went over to Forsyth.  
  
“Move over. I’m through with babying you. Your leg’s healed, all you have to do is get up and use it.”  
  
“Maybe you finally know how I feel.” Forsyth muttered.  
  
Still, Forsyth shifted, offering Python a portion of the cramped cot. Python slipped in alongside Forsyth, choosing to sleep nearly face to face with him and dragging some of Forsyth’s pillow over to his side.  
  
“Python.”  
  
Upon hearing his name, Python turned his head and cracked open one eye. While he didn’t appear happy to be kept up, he allowed it.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Why did you wager that I’d live?”  
  
He let out a tremendous yawn. “Because Clive told you not to die. Like it or not, you and me are cut from the same bolt. The right person gives the order and you follow it, whether you want to or not.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
Tired of waiting for Fernand to offer anything else, Python turned back into Forsyth, falling asleep. Fernand turned his head so that he was looking up at the sky. When Duma had lived, no stars dared to show themselves around the tower, but now, the night shimmered, moonlight beating down on the field hospital.  
  
Not sure that there was anything else that he could do, Fernand let his exhaustion overtake him.


	13. Chapter 13

Alm was emperor of Rigel, Antheise the queen of Zofia. Even as both kingdoms settled into a peaceful reign, Valentia wasn’t repaired overnight. There were still countless people starving while others took advantage of the chaos. It would be a long time before the continent was healed, but Mathilda was ready to put in the effort.  
  
The Order required a complete overhaul and she and Clive were chosen to be the ones to bring it forth. A whole new generation of knights was being created, one where titles meant nothing and everything came down to character and skill. When Mathilda looked out at her trainees, she saw the best group of knights Valencia had ever produced, people from every corner of the continent and from every origin, each possessing their own unique talents that would only make the Order that much stronger.  
  
After fighting alongside the Deliverance for so long, Clair readily passed her test to become a knight and was given a squadron of pegasus knights to command. Though it was often difficult for Mathilda and her to find time to speak with one another with their conflicting schedules, she began to get the impression that Clair had finally warmed up to her, even wanted to be friends. She was unsure if the shift was caused by Clair being able to let go of her fears for her brother’s safety or if Mathilda had finally said something right, but it was a victory nonetheless.  
  
Despite being given invitations to serve either court, Fernand had declined them both. Forsyth, now a knight himself, reported the only offer Fernand had given any serious consideration was Python’s. Having passed up both a quiet life after the war and a place among the Zofian knights, Python had formed a vigilante group not unlike the Deliverance, its purpose to defend the villages that the knights couldn’t always readily reach. For one reason of another, Python had reached out to Fernand and asked if he wanted to join him, the only stipulation that Fernand watch his mouth around Forsyth. Fernand turned him down.  
  
From what little information Mathilda could gather, Fernand had taken what remained of his family’s money and set up in a remote village. Silque would occasionally see him, visiting to brew the potion he drank to keep Rinea’s magic from flaring up and consuming his body. When Mathilda asked how he was, Silque had said that he was reserved, but calm. The villagers believed him to be a man who had seen too much in the war and become a hermit as a result. But since he was kind enough, they were kind in turn, making sure that he had enough to eat and that he knew he was welcome at the village events. He attended them on occasion, even if he was always on the sidelines.  
  
Whenever Silque began to pack up her tools to go see Fernand, Mathilda knew Clive was watching her. She was as well. The days where Fernand had been recovering in the castle had been good ones. All she and Clive had to do was enter the infirmary and he’d be there. They could speak, laugh, cry with him. There was so much crying at first. This wasn’t the Fernand that they’d grown up with or the spiteful man he’d transformed into, he was a new person entirely. One that Mathilda wanted to befriend. And then on the day that he’d been pronounced healthy enough to leave the castle, Mathilda and Clive had returned the following morning to find him gone. Through everything, Fernand’s damn pride was still the same. He’d never forgiven himself for his actions and hadn’t been able to bear the people he betrayed opening their arms to him once again. If Fernand knew one thing, it was how to run from what hurt him.  
  
“Go with her.” She told Clive one day.  
  
“Mathilda-”  
  
“We worried enough about having regrets during the war. Don’t start having them now.”  
  
She earnestly had no idea what had the potential to happen between the three of them anymore. There had been talk of she and Clive marrying the following spring. For as much as Mathilda trusted Clive to stay true to her, she loved him enough that she wanted him to be happy, whether that meant being her husband or otherwise. As long as Clive was a part of her life, Mathilda knew things would be right. The same was true for Fernand. It was time for Clive to bring him home.


	14. Chapter 14

Fernand balled up another piece of parchment and tossed it into the wastebasket, watching it arc through the air to land with a soft thud atop the other letters Fernand had started and then grown to hate before he could even sign his name. There were letters addressed to Mathilda, Clair, Alm, even Python and Forsyth, but the bulk of them had been intended for Clive.  
  
For as long as Fernand had been away from Zofia, had longed for the plains and forests of the land he’d grown up in, he no longer possessed no home there. It had been reduced to ash and then scattered by the wind. The doors to the castle barracks may have been open, but it was no place for one to plant their roots. He wasn’t sure why he had come out here. Even if he’d come to like his cottage well enough, finding its cozy, almost cramped spaces a soothing change from gaping hallways of frigid castles, he wasn’t content. He had yet to begin collecting any items beyond basic human necessities, waiting for something nonexistent to come along and draw him away.  
  
Nobody knew his family name here. While that would have enraged him not long ago, he currently considered it to be a blessing. He was just Fernand. This village had been rocked by the drought and yet there was always commiseration in the gazes that met his. Hardship hadn’t hardened anyone here. Now that food was plentiful, the villagers wanted nothing more than to share, often sending Fernand home with scones or fruit that he hadn’t paid for no matter how much he insisted otherwise. The local tailor had noticed that the scant pairs of clothes he’d taken with him were growing threadbare and gifted him a heavy cloak for the upcoming winter. Another time one of the local artisans had approached Fernand, asking if he’d come and sit for a portrait. He reluctantly agreed and after several hours was sent home with some water color paints and heavy paper for his troubles.  
  
Fernand put the art supplies on his cramped table, ignoring them for weeks. Having been taught how to paint as a child, he knew how to use the tools, but the colors were all too bright inside the dull interior of the cottage. At one point, he willed himself to at least get some water and see which color the dusty pigments created. He added drops of water to each small container of paint, but found himself just staring at the paper and wet brush as the paints absorbed the water and then dried out once again.  
  
The path that led to his cottage was a peaceful one, running for nearly two miles before it ended at the village. He’d been told that his cottage had belonged to a hunter that had died some years back. The cottage had sat in the woods, cared for by the villagers, but left unclaimed. Finally, a distant cousin of the hunter had arrived to sell the cottage. Fernand had been able to purchase it for a song, the cousin just wanting to be rid of the thing. It wasn’t anything special, its main attributes being a cramped sink, a stove that would belch forth smoke if you put too many logs into it, and a precariously built sleeping loft that Fernand knew he was going to fall off of someday. But it was his and in learning how to take care of the cottage and himself, Fernand began to be able to silence his thoughts long enough to get to sleep.  
  
Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Knowing that if he didn’t do something, he’d sit at that table doing nothing until night fell, Fernand pulled on his boots and cloak, hoping that a walk would quiet his mind. It was raining, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He walked all the way to the village, circling it and forcing himself to be friendly with the villagers that stopped to speak with him. The villagers knew Silque and informed him that she had passed through the village along with a stranger some time back.  
  
He was glad that she was here. It at least meant some company for the evening even if it always ended in Fernand sleeping in a hard chair so that Silque could have the bed. Fernand shut the gate behind him as he approached his cottage, counting three horses including his own. He knew the bay gelding who stood alongside his black mare, the two horses having been raised together. Even so, he was left in pure disbelief.  
  
The water pump squeaked as the handle was moved up and down, Silque fetching water to start making the potion.  
  
“Good evening, Fernand.” She greeted with a smile.  
  
His manners deserted him in his shock. “Why is he here?”  
  
“He wanted to see you. Here, take this to him. I can never get that stove of yours going so he said he’d try.”  
  
She handed Fernand the heavy bucket of water. It took some of is sloshing over onto his pants for him come out of his daze and look towards the cottage. The curtains were drawn, but the candles had been lit and smoke was irregularly puffing out the chimney. Fernand took one step towards the cottage door. Then another and another. His hand was shaking as he opened the door.  
  
Crouched before the stove, Clive was frowning at the tinder that was throwing smoke everywhere. He turned when he heard the door open, the frustration falling away from his expression and leaving astonishment that was mirrored in Fernand’s face. Fernand forced himself to set down the pail of water before he dropped it. Clive rose and for a long moment, all they could do was stare at one another. This time, Fernand had no idea what he wished to say to Clive and if Clive was waiting for some sort of explanation for his behavior, he was going to be left wanting.  
  
It took Fernand being unable to suppress a coughing fit for one of them to make a sound. He had yet to take his potion for the evening. Drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, he was unable to stop hacking until the he’d spotted the cloth with fresh blood. It no longer concerned him like it used to and he merely went to the cabinet and pulled out the potion, uncorking it and then taking a swig. He’d even gotten used to the taste even if it was hard not to gag each time he drank it. With a sigh, he put the bottle away and then turned to Clive.  
  
“What are you doing here?”  
  
“I could ask you the same question.”  
  
Fernand turned to the door. “It’s too cold to let Silque wait outside.”  
  
Clive didn’t protest as Fernand beckoned Silque inside. While she tried to give them some space to talk inside the tiny cottage, Fernand could tell that she was listening as she went about pouring water into the kettle and laying out the various ingredients she used in making the potion.  
  
“This is a lovely place. Do you like it here?”  
  
“No,” He answered honestly. “I enjoy my cottage and the village, but I can’t say that I’m content here.”  
  
Cold anger was heavy in Clive’s words. “You are the most flighty person I have ever met, Fernand. Is there anything you won’t run from, including your own happiness?”  
  
“Clive-”  
  
“We’ve forgiven you. I’ve forgiven you. All that’s left is for you to forgive yourself. I never thought I’d see you again after you left the Deliverance and then I thought you’d died in my arms. It was a blessing of Mila that you survived. You came home and then I found your bed empty once again. I don’t know what I can do to make you stay.”  
  
“You don’t need me, Clive!” Fernand shouted, unable to listen to this any longer. “You’re all better off without me! Go home and marry Mathilda, focus on the friends you have in the Order. It’s time that you ceased wasting your breath on me.”  
  
“Fernand.” Clive whispered, taken aback by his words.  
  
Clive stepped forward, tears in his eyes as he embraced Fernand. When Fernand couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped him at the contact, Clive pressed his forehead to his, leaving Fernand unable to look away from him.  
  
“Never in my life have I thought that I was better off without you and I never will. You will never be able to hurt me in a way that keeps me from loving you. I need you in my life, Fernand. Why do you not understand that after all of these years? You don’t think you’re worth a damn, even after all that’s happened, but I would give you the world if you asked me to. I believe in you to that extent.”  
  
That was when something snapped inside of Fernand and everything that had been stagnating inside of him rushed forward. Sobs wracked his body.  
  
“Clive… I love you so much, Clive.”  
  
“Then show me. Come home to us, your family. You don’t have to run, Fernand. For the love of the gods, I’m begging you to quit running. Please, come home.”  
  
Falling on old habits, Fernand began to reach to touch Clive’s face before he remembered himself and stopped. Clive took Fernand’s hand. After kissing his palm, he brought it to his cheek. In that moment, Fernand didn’t care if he and Clive ever had a chance to be lovers again. He wanted Clive in any form that he would allow along with everyone else he’d left behind.  
  
“How can I refuse you?”  
  
Clive smiled even through his tears. Fernand wanted nothing more than to kiss him, but he forced himself to settle for wiping the tears from his face. Through it all, Clive continued to hold him tight, as if he were afraid that letting his grip slacken would result in Fernand bolting off.  
  
The kettle began to whistle and Fernand turned to see Silque watching them. She blushed at being caught.  
  
“My apologies!” She exclaimed as she turned around and went back to working. “Don’t mind me, I’m almost done here.”  
  
Clive didn’t let Fernand go even as Fernand turned to address her.  
  
“It’s all right, Silque.”  
  
Nodding, she attempted to go back to making the potion, only succeeding in picking up a stem of herb before promptly putting it down and turning to Fernand with a smile.  
  
“Everyone will be happy to see you.”  
  
Fernand dared to let himself believe that.


	15. Chapter 15

The meadow had been utterly destroyed when it was used for a battle field years earlier. Now, having been given proper time to heal, it was hardly distinguishable from Fernand’s memories of it. The trees framed the stars as the wildflowers softly rustled in the breeze. He was lying on his back, Mathilda to one side of him, Clive on the other. The meteor shower had yet to fall into full swing and minutes could pass without one blazing across the night sky.  
  
Fernand would likely never be able escape the feeling that he’d come between Clive and Mathilda. Spring had come and gone and they hadn’t married. Neither of them seemed to care, laughing and smiling with Fernand. The most recent class of potential knights had taken their field tests, Fernand watching them all from the sidelines. It was strange to think that not so long ago he was in their position, bargaining with Mila to let his scores be high enough to join the Order. His thoughts had been so trivial and short sighted, but perhaps they weren’t any farther reaching now. He took every day as it came because that was what he could handle.  
  
With the time that Fernand had spent in Rigel, Queen Antheise asked that he become her ambassador. It was a hefty position that Fernand was still considering, even if he knew that it would mean the fresh start he had been searching for. Word was that now that Duma was dead, Rigel had begun to bloom into a new land and Fernand was curious how it now differed from what he’d seen of it. Beyond that, he would have his pick of knights to accompany him. He could very well ask Clive and Mathilda to join him. The idea seemed reminiscent of the old days when they were sent out on missions to remote corners of Zofia, but Fernand didn’t want to relive the past any longer. If he was going to go to Rigel, it would be as a new man.  
  
He’d been through hell and clawed his way out, the handkerchief perpetually stained with blood in his pocket a grim reminder of the fact. The relationships that he’d cleaved in two had been reforged into something unbreakable. Perhaps most importantly, he knew where his place in the universe lie. Looking back up at the sky, the stars raced across the sky, two and three at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave kudos and/or comments if you enjoyed this!


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